Tales of the Istari
by Sly Like A Fox
Summary: A familiar character searches for his purpose.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER

Neither of these characters are mine even though you may not have heard of them. More to come. Hope you like it.

A figure stood at the head of a low, beautifully crafted boat leaning on a staff of gnarled wood, one heavily booted foot on the side. His eyes were hidden beneath the wide brim of his tall hat which sat atop a head of long silver hair. The boat made it's lazy way through the shrouds of fog that hung thick over the water. Apart from the creaking of taught rope and the lapping of the calm sea, an eerie silence surrounded him. It was a cold night and his dark robes were close around him, his rough grey cloak tucked firmly over his bearded chin. As he stared out into the swirling mist he heard footsteps approaching. He twisted his head round ever so slightly and gave a nod of acknowledgement to the new comer.

This man was dressed much the same as the first, except all in white. He wore neither hat nor hood and his well groomed, long white hair came down to the middle of his back. He bore before him a long stave of dark metal which was topped with a ball of pearly stone. He stood tall and silently behind his companion, staring out into the dullness. After a spell of silence, he at last turned his head to his friend and said in a low voice: "The mist aids our wish to remain hidden for the time being. There is much afoot in this country, and there maybe enemies abroad that would seek to hinder our coming." The other kept looking forward but spoke a reply.

"If Eru had permitted us to come in our full power we would have no need for such mist and secrecy." There was a slight air of bitterness in his voice. His friend raised an eye brow in slight surprise.

"I shall remind you, Olórin, that He sent us here to restore the balance, not to tip it either way, toward good or evil. Evil is brewing in the east, and undoubtably it will grow and cast a shadow across the land. But to come in our full strength would be just as worse and possibly force our foe into doing something drastic that could spell the end for all the free people of this land. And our master does not want that, and in His wisdom he has sent us in this manner. You would do well not to question His will." Olórin straightened up and turned to face his companion.

"I am not questioning His will, Curunír, mearly how he means us to vanquish such a powerfull enemy with no powers or weapons to do so. What ever He asks I will do, unquestioningly. Hence I stand before you know in this form." He sat on the side of the boat and drew his cloak further around him. "It seems to me that we are scuttling about like rats in a pantry, hiding for our foes that we have no tools to stop." His friend remained standing in a moment of thought.

"It is true that we have no physical weapons as of yet," he said at last, "And that our powers are diminshed in this realm of Arda. It is going to take all of our skill and cunning to bring down the enemy. But do not confuse the need for stratagy with cowadice. We need to be bold and risk much. And we must succeed. Think of it as a test from Eru." He came over to Olórin and, placing a hand on his shoulder, laughed quietly. "You worry too much my friend. We are not yet through the fog. Now is just the begining." They once again looked out of the boat. The mists began to disperse as they passed slowly into a harbour of grey stone. Olórin grunted a reply.

"The begining is the bit that I am worried about."


	2. Chapter 2

-1DISCLAIMER: Neither of these characters are mine, and neither are the terms Middle Earth, Lorien or the Undying Lands. Urmmm….. Enjoy!

He hit the ground with an audible thump, but he rolled forward into a crouch. His staff, which lay a few feet away leaped instantly into his outstretched hand. He instinctively ducked to his side, just as a huge fist smashed through the rock where he had been just moments before. He got to his feet and ran for cover, unclasping his cloak so as not to get caught on anything. Just as he did a hefty arm bore him into the air, slamming him into a wall which cracked under the force. He gasped, winded , but he managed to remain on his feet. He looked up again, face to face with the slavering cave troll, it's foul breath stirring his long silvered locks of hair. With a grunt of effort, the cave troll lifted a huge rock, a rock which four grown men would have struggled to lift today, above it's head; intending to smite the grey stranger.

As he watched, the creature go about it's fell purpose, the figure felt a fire ignite in his heart, a flash behind the watery blue of his eyes. He stood suddenly erect, tall and proud he seemed… and he cried in a loud voice, more clear than any there that had ever been achieved before:

"I am Olorin, a wizard of Middle Earth, a Maia spirit of the gardens of Lorien of the Undying Lands. And I shall not be defeated by some abominable creation of malice."

And with that, he raised his staff, and a great fire blazed at its tip. He charged forward, and as he did the troll hurled the great rock. But such was the strengths of the wizards enchantments, it was blasted asunder with a mighty crack. And so he charged forth, unhindered and with a swing he struck the troll straight in the chest. With an almighty crack the troll flew back as if struck with a club. And as the troll continued to fly through the air so too did Olorin continue his charge, drawing his sword in a swift movement. With one bound he leaped above the troll as it hit the ground with a earth shaking thud. Down he came, as a tree falls in the woods, the blade of his weapon aimed straight at the troll's heart.

But the blade was dull, and wrought with haste and not care for some battle or another, and was not strong enough to pierce the skin of the troll, and it glanced off. The troll quickly recovered, and with an ear-splitting roar it grabbed the man before he had chance to escape. Olorin winced with pain in the trolls grip, as it picked itself up off the ground. The wrath of the troll was great, and with little effort, it lifted the man above it's head, ready to dash Olorin against the cold, un yielding stone.

And, just as Olorin himself had given up all hope… he was released. Falling the floor, he quickly came to his feet, looking back at this would-be killer. The troll was still stood with it's arms raised, but he could see the wooded shaft of an arrow protruding from the trolls throat, fitted with white flights. And, with one last gasping groan, the troll fell to the floor, dead.

Olorin stood there panting, staring at the body of the troll. He started when he heard a voice behind him.

"You are lucky, my friend, that I was passing. Many have I buried who have had encounters with this very troll." Olorin wheeled round to see a tall, graceful figure, dressed in a green tunic, a quiver of white flighted arrows strapped to his back, and a long, beautifully made bow in it's hand. Atop it's head of well kept brown hair, sat a crown seemingly of intertwined plants which held a dark green stone in the centre of his forehead. Olorin bowed deeply, for he stood in the presence of an elf, one of the fairest beings who walked Middle Earth.

"I owe you my life, Master Elf," he said, resting a hand on his heart. "Pray, tell me your name so that one day I may return the favour…" The elf bowed slowly, a hint of a smile playing across his lips.

"My name is Elrond."


	3. Chapter 3

Just a quick note. Urmmm… thanks for the reviews. The problem here is, my computer has forgotten how to put accents on the appropriate letters… so some of the names don't have them. None of the characters are mine etc. etc.

Atop a brown horse sat a figure, grey cloak drawn close about himself against the thick rain that fell across the land. Next to him sat another, clad from head to foot in white. The rain seemed not to touch him as it plummeted from the sky, it seemed to fall around him, but not a drop fell upon his well kept hair. Still they trudged on through the torrent, until they came to an old road that followed alongside a stream.

"Ah… the Sirannon, the Gate-Stream it is called by some. For long has it ran out from the cliffs, swift and noisily, and for long shall it do so. We shall continue along this road until we are met by our guide." The grey cloaked man turned to his companion, eye brow raised in confusion.

"What need have we for a guide, Curumo? Do we not know where the gates to the realm of Kazad-dúm are located?" His companion said nothing for a long while, and then began to laugh. Though he didn't show it, the grey man felt a shiver run down his spine, it happened every time the man laughed.

"My dear Olórin, have you read nothing of these children of Aule? Dwarves are the most wonderful stone carvers and metal workers… some of the finest in Middle-earth. They are a powerful, rugged and long-bearded race, much used to working in mines and foundries. They are well suited to the crafts of Aule, The Smith of the Valar; he made them strong and tough… but not tall," at this point, a faint smile crossed his face. "He made them their own language, which save for a few snippets and words, no other race has ever mastered, for they guard it fiercely. Their doors are hidden by great craft and skill… no one can gain entrance to their cities, as their doors are closed and invisible to all who know where they are… and we don't know where they are. That is why we need guidance. You should not be so reluctant to accept the help of the peoples of this land." Olórin merely grunted and continued along the road.

The both of them went on until they came to a knoll at the side of the road, upon which stood a Dwarf, richly dressed in a blue velvet tunic. His beard was long and full, much like his hair which billowed out from underneath a crown-like helm of silver. He bowed deeply as they approached and said in a booming voice, "Welcome and well met! Durin VI at your service." Curumo and Olórin got off their horses, and bowed to the Dwarf in return.

"Greetings, my name is Curumo, at the service of you and your family's." He went over to where Olórin stood and placed a hand on his shoulder, "And this is…"

"I know who this is…" said the Dwarf, walking slowly up to Olórin and shaking his hand, "We have heard much of you Tharkun, your exploits are renowned even here." He bowed again lower than before. "Come, I have laid down a feast in both of your honours in my mansion." He turned and walked a few steps, then turned back. "You may want to leave you mounts here… caves are no place for such free creatures of the fields." Then he walked on again. Olórin and Curumo stood a while longer, leaning on their staffs. Until, finally, Curumo turned to look at Olórin with slight surprise on his face.

"Tharkun!" he said, slightly amused at the harsh sound of the word. Olórin sighed deeply.

"They give me many names that I care little for… they are of no use to me."

They continued along the high road, expertly made of marble flagstones and well kept they were. The path continued along the side of the stream until it turned right sharply and led to a stair case of stone which they quickly sprang up. Though once at the top, the wizards saw no further way forward. There was no sign of any entrance of any description. Durin smiled slightly. "Dwarf doors are made invisible, Tharkun… even their makers cannot find them if they forget. But this doors have not been made secret to everyone like ones made in ages past." Just as they spoke, the Moon sailed out from behind the veil of clouds… and as the rays of white light shone upon the smooth surface of the rock, lo! Hidden slivers of metal began to glow from the cliff face. They twinkled like a thread of a Spider's web bejewelled with morning dew. They shone stronger and stronger, until the faces of the companions were illuminated by it's eerie light. The design was intensely intricate but outlines and emblems shone out clearly. Olórin placed a hand onto the rock, tracing round the designs with his finger tips. He started to mutter as he was reading the elvish lettering that blazed at the very top.

"The doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter…"

"Our passwords are secret to many of our own people," Durin said, walking up to stand beside Olórin. "If you wouldn't mind…" So Olórin went to stand beside Curumo as Durin, without being heard, whispered the password. There was a loud bang and the sound of grinding stone as the doors began to open. As soon as they did, another Dwarf fell from out of them, a billow of smoke following him as he hit the floor, slamming face down into the hard flagstones. Durin knelt down to him, full of care he turned the Dwarf over and rested his head on his lap. Olórin started forward, concerned also, but the restraining hand of Curumo stopped him. The Dwarf's beard was singed and smoking, his bare arms covered in burns. He coughed up soot and said, "Durin! My lord, I thought you had been lost…"

"Gwain, my dear friend… what has happened?"

"Great evil Sir," Gwain said, rasping out another cough. "We were down in the Mithril mines. One minute I was digging… the next…" His eyes widened as he seemed to look past Durin, recounting some great fear. He choked and coughed again. Durin grasped his hand and looked into his eyes.

"What Gwain… what has happened!" Gwain snapped back to look at Durin, breathing heavily.

"F…fire… fire in the deep… the very rock burned…"

"A dragon?"

"N… n… no, sir…" Gwain grabbed the collar of Durin's tunic. "A.. Balrog…" And with that he let out a huge breath and died. Durin gently closed his eyes with a stroke of his hand. He paused a moment, looking upon Gwain's face, then he rose to face the two wizards. A determined and resolved look fixed in his eyes.

"I am sorry but I can no longer for fill our arrangement," he bowed his head, "My people need me…" And with that he turned and ran through the door, into the darkness within. Olórin started after him, but Curumo grabbed his arm and spun him round to face him.

"We may be powerful but we are no match for a Valarankar… there is no irony in their names; they are called 'demons of might' for a very good reason. These servants of Melkor are too strong…"

"I am stronger than most…" Olórin said, and with that he held up his left hand, the ring finger of which wore an Elven ring, a large deep red ruby held in a band of purest gold. Curumo's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Narya… the ring of Fire. But why do you have it!" Olórin dropped his hand once more.

"It was given to me by Cirdan upon our arrival in the Grey Havens." He turned to the door again, seeking to catch up with Durin and aid him. But Curumo grabbed his arm, this time with more force. And as he faced him once more, Olórin wondered at the jealous fury in his eyes.

"Why would Cirdan give it to you instead of me?" he snarled. "I am the head of our Order, not you!" For a moment Olórin was lost for words, dumbfounded by the change in his companions personality. Then he placed a hand upon Curumo's shoulder and spoke quietly.

"Who knows, Curumo… who knows. The first born work in mysterious ways… more so than we, you know that. This is not the time or place for this discussion; I have no time for this foolishness… I must go!" And with that he wretched his arm from Curumo's grasp and ran after Durin, soon enveloped by the enclosing darkness of the underground realm.


End file.
